


I'll Always Come Home to You

by baberainbow



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Assholes vs Sam and Bucky, Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson Friendship, Bucky is Very Tired of Wanna-Be Villains Acting like Dicks, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic Steve Rogers, Established Relationship, M/M, Maria Hill and Natasha are very good at their job, Sam and Bucky banter, Steve Worries and Loves Bucky Very Much, non-canon compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-30 01:17:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20088595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baberainbow/pseuds/baberainbow
Summary: Steve's retired the shield to Sam, but Bucky's not ready to leave the field yet. Steve worries, Bucky and Sam go on missions together, and Bucky always comes home to Steve.





	I'll Always Come Home to You

Bucky smushes his face deeper into his pillow. All the media outlets say his jaw is sharp enough to cut through steel, but forceful nuzzling fails to submerge his head deep into the miracle that is memory foam, away from the ominous beeps of his alarm clock. 

“Is it time?” Steve murmurs, blearily stuffing his nose right under Bucky’s elbow, like a dog eager for a petting. “Wan’ me to make you breakfast?” 

Bucky grumbles a pitiful, “Don’t wanna get up,” and he blindly pats his side table before he jams his right thumb against the clock’s snooze button. It’s the fifth clock he’s gone through just this month. This model is sturdier than the others. It was a solid investment. “No.” 

“You gotta,” Steve says, and the goddamn beautiful bastard emerges from their warm cocoon, throwing off the quilt covering them. “It’s important.” 

“Sam can do it alone,” Bucky insists, and he yanks the quilt back over himself. 

Steve tuts, and he crawls out of bed. Bucky fruitlessly reaches for him. “Buck, he’ll be here at the hour. I’ll make you a protein shake, okay? Start getting dressed.”

Bucky groans into the memory foam and finally opens his eyes. Steve’s standing in their bedroom’s doorway, all sleepy and adorable with his green plaid pajama pants and his matching button-up flannel. He’s so gorgeous and goddamn obnoxious . “Ugh.” 

Steve laughs. “Looks like I should make you some coffee, too.”

Bucky rubs at his face as he swings his legs over the side of the bed. “Oh, don’t act like you don’t know why I’m tired, hotshot. You wore me out.” 

“Really?” Steve asks, trying to be all coy when he’s really blushing pink. 

Bucky rolls his eyes, helplessly fond. “Yeah, and if you’re lucky, I’ll let you do it all over again tonight.” 

Steve licks at his lips then makes a hasty exit for the kitchen. Bucky’d like nothing more than for Steve to clobber him down onto the bed for some nice morning necking and rubbing, but the thought of them being preoccupied when Sam shows up is enough to sober him up. 

He stumbles out of bed and starts changing into his mission attire. By the time he’s sheathed his seventh hidden knife, Steve’s already upstairs and handing him a shake to chug. “Thanks, hon.” 

“I’ll be at the HQ for a bit. Probably gonna do some yard work. But, if you need me--” Steve starts, beckoning Bucky to sit down on the side of the bed so he can lace up his boots. 

“I know. I’ll call you.” Bucky wipes his mouth, and he ruffles Steve’s hair as a thank you for dealing with his boots. “It’s just an in-and-out infiltration, honey. You won’t even have to record the game for me ‘cause I’ll be back just in time to watch it with you. I’ll be here before dinner.” 

“Think I’ll grill us some steaks. Some corn on the cob, too. How does that sound?” 

“Really nice, honey. We got that twelve-pack to break into, as well.”

“Mm,” Steve hums, and he pats Bucky’s thigh once he’s done. He tugs Bucky up and holds him, nuzzling at his hair, inhaling him. “It’s a plan.” 

Bucky rubs his back, soothing and sure. It does sound nice: sitting out on their outdoor patio where they’ve got a nice widescreen TV, comfy couches, and a table to eat at. It’s not too dreadfully hot this time of year, and the thought of coming home to Steve for a nice night outside… “Mhm.” 

“Wanna put your arm on?” Steve asks, eye flickering to the closet. 

“Yeah.” Steve helps attach it to the socket, and Bucky clenches and releases his metal fist absentmindedly. "Thanks, Steve." 

His phone beeps. 

“Eta 5 min. Your ass better be out of bed Siri send it” appears on the lockscreen. 

Sam sends the loveliest messages. 

“What a role model,” Bucky comments. “He doesn’t text me rude things while he’s driving. He uses voice-to-text instead.” 

Then it dings again. 

“Also please bring me a cup of coffee you know how I take it” Sam adds. “Don’t pretend you Siri put quotation marks around forgot I don’t drink it black this time ok Siri send text’ 

“Isn’t Wilson the sweetest,” Bucky swoons, shutting his phone off. “He’s coming in hot.”

“Better get you downstairs, then.” Steve rubs their noses together, and he pulls away. “You look very handsome, y’know.” 

He preens a little, striking a little pose as he heads to the hallway. “Yeah? Like seein’ me get dolled up for Sam, huh?” 

Steve snorts at that, and he keeps behind Bucky as they head downstairs. 

Bucky helps himself to the remainder of the shake in the blender while Steve keeps an eye out for Sam’s car. 

“Oh, shit lemme get--” and Bucky prepares a thermos for Sam. 

“So sweet of you to do that for him, honey,” Steve teases, and Bucky scoffs. 

The phone dings. "I’m pulling up be outside don’t make me wait this time Siri send text" 

Sam’s sleek black sedan approaches, and Steve disables the house’s alarm. “Alright, Buck.”

This part is always the hardest, no matter how used to it they get: saying goodbye.

Before, Steve was downright inconsolable when Bucky embarked on his first week-long solo mission. Another time, Sam had to physically detach Steve from Bucky’s side as Natasha tried to herd Bucky into a helicopter for some super secret Former Russian Assassin Only mission that even Sam and Steve weren’t privy to know the details. Over time, they’ve become steadier and more stable than nervous wrecks pacing at the front door. Steve is solid like a rock when Bucky comes home to him just as Bucky provides a steadfast shelter after a long hard day. They trust each other. 

So, Steve kisses him on the lips and forehead. “I’ll be waiting for you. Come home to me, okay?” 

As though Bucky wouldn’t. 

“Of course. I love you, honey,” Bucky says and he really means it with every fiber in his body. “I love you.” 

Steve escorts him to the driveway, carrying Bucky’s mission-prepped duffle bags for him. 

Sam rolls down the windows as they approach. “Did you forget to get some beauty sleep, Barnes?” 

“Yeah, tossed and turned all night but kept having nightmares about your face,” Bucky says back. “Pop the trunk.” 

Steve tosses his bag in, and then opens the passenger side door for him. 

“Mornin’ Sam,” Steve says, closing Buck’s door. 

“Hey, Steve.” Bucky hands him the thermos, and Sam looks warily at it before he takes a sip. It is acceptable. “You excited for the game? You locked in your fantasy league line-up?” 

Steve bends his knees a bit so he can be eye-level with them. “Yeah. Planning to wipe the floor with Rhodey and Lang this season.” 

“Rhodes said the same about you. Lang picks his roster like it’s a crapshoot.” Sam teases. “Alright, well. I’ll drop him off when we’re done. See you later on.” 

Steve smiles. “I’ll see you later.” He still leans in through the window so Bucky can kiss him one last time. “I’ll be here when you get back. I love you.” 

Sam pretends to gag. 

“Oh honey,” and he pulls Steve in for another just to annoy Sam. “I love you baby.” 

Sam groans. “Okay, okay. Let’s go.” 

Steve backs away so Sam can roll the windows up. “Don’t kill each other!” Steve calls to them very lovingly. 

“Can I use your aux cord?” 

“No.” Sam turns up the dial on the radio even louder. 

Bucky watches Steve wave at their car in the side-mirror until they’re out of sight. 

“Just so you know, in case I haven’t told you enough before, you two are gross,” Sam huffs. That statement just encourages Bucky even more, honestly. “Absolutely gross.” 

Bucky scoffs. “You ain’t seen gross, Wilson. Just you wait.”

\--- 

“Well, this isn’t good,” Bucky simply tells the black wall in front of him.

It should have been cut-and-dry. 

A former HYDRA facility lay dormant in a small town just north of the Bronx, but recently it started showing signs of activity. In 2014, doxxed HYDRA agents fled the area like a rat from a flood. Natasha still checked out the building, did some helpful hacking and backing up on some hard-drives, and then left some devices that would alert her if the base should start to wake back up. 

And it did. 

She started intercepting encrypted messages that appeared to have been sent from inside the base. This intel suggested someone was using the facility’s previously inactive servers to communicate with an unknown source. Logged data indicated that whoever was sneaking into the base tended to use the servers between noon and fifteen-hundred. 

All Sam and Bucky needed to do was infiltrate the base, hack the server to find out who and where the communication was being sent to, get the decryption key, wait for the rogue agent to show up, and then deliver said rogue agent to an interrogation room for Natasha. She would have joined them, but she was locked in some Super Important Meeting with some officials that even Maria Hill couldn’t excuse herself from. 

But they’d be fine. In and out. Routine. 

Easy enough. 

Unfortunately, not really. 

They cleared out the base just fine, but the second Bucky and Sam accessed the server, a gas started spilling out from the ceiling. It knocked them both out before they could react. 

It had all been a trap.

“Duh.” That’s what Bucky realizes, waking up in some dark room with his metal arm apparently singed off and his other limbs tied down to a bolted chair and heavy wires and chains. “Walked right into that, huh?” 

The wall doesn’t reply. 

Sam’s still out, which is understandable. He’s tied up in a similar fashion in a reinforced chair on the other side of the room. 

Bucky’s body has started neutralizing whatever drug knocked them out, and Sam’s needs more time. If the gas had been potent enough to incapacitate Bucky in seconds, it must have really done a number on Sam. 

He can’t wiggle his toes in his boots. The singed Vibranium smells sharp and nauseating. His head is pounding. 

“Fucking shitfire goddamn situation.” 

There aren’t any windows, so Bucky can’t tell what time it is or where they are. 

“I’m gonna miss the game, huh?” he laments to the wall. 

The wall doesn't answer. Instead, the response he gets is four masked assholes barging into the room. 

“Winter Soldier!” Asshole One says. 

“Uh, present?” Bucky would raise his hand, but one hand is gone and the other is bound by wire. 

Asshole Two socks him in the jaw for participating in the roll call. 

“Ow.” 

“Shut up!” Asshole Three demands. Then, he digs into his coat’s insides and unfolds a sheet. 

It’s paper fresh from the printer. Bucky can smell the ink. 

Asshole Four and Asshole Two huddle and point at the page. Asshole Two waves the papers away. “Dude, just do it.” 

“Your pronunciation is better!” Asshole Four insists. 

“C’mon man, just do it!” Asshole Three interjects. 

“Yeah, man! Just believe in yourself!” Bucky adds. 

Asshole One socks him in the jaw. “Shut up!”

“Ow.” 

Asshole Two grumbles and straightens out the crinkled papers. He clears his throat. “Zhelaniye,” he begins,

“Oh you gotta be fucking kidding me,” Bucky groans. “C’mon man, that shit doesn’t work on me anymore!” 

Asshole One delivers another blow, this time to his stomach. 

“Still won’t work!” Bucky insists. 

Asshole Two recites the entire activation phrase. 

Bucky blinks at them, lips pursed in boredom . “Like I said, it doesn’t work!” 

“He’s bluffing!” Asshole One whispers to Asshole Two. “Just try it again. Maybe you said something the wrong way.” 

“He didn’t,” Bucky tells them. “I have to say, man, your Russian is pretty good. A little too forced in some places, but it’s getting there.” Asshole Three kicks him in the shin. “Ow.” 

Asshole Two tries it again. Bucky yawns. 

Half-way through the third attempt, Bucky pretends to go along. He sits up as straight as he can, and he narrows his eyes. He slacks his jaw, too, to add to the Soldier’s trademarked Empty-and-Scary aesthetic. 

“Oh god, dude it worked!” Asshole Three clasps Asshole Two on the shoulder. “What do the instructions say to do next?” 

Asshole Two clears his throat again. “Good morning, Soldier.” 

Bucky stares at them, unblinking for a solid minute. He counts the seconds in his head.

Asshole Four shrugs. “Try something else.” 

“Good afternoon, Soldier.” 

Bucky glares at them blankly. 

“Good evening, Soldier?” 

Bucky stays silent, maintaining an unnerving eye-contact. Well, he guesses it’s eye contact. He can’t see their faces behind the masks. Eye contact with the mask is a better way to put it. He hopes it’s just as scary. 

“Bro, what if he’s liked...locked out?” Asshole One asks. “Like we used the wrong password, and now he’s just stuck like this?” 

Asshole Three groans. “Shit!” 

Bucky considers keeping up the act for another minute, but he cracks a smile and loses the entire facade. 

“Oh fuck,” Bucky laughs. It’s a rumbling kind of laugh. Like the genuine, hard laugh that makes Steve grasp at his chest. If he had a hand to wipe at his eye, he’d use it. “You are all so fucking stupid.” 

The Assholes are suspended in disbelief for a moment, but Asshole One snaps out of it and promptly smacks Bucky upside the head. 

“Ow.” 

“Muh?” Sam groans. “Buh-cky?” 

“Oh hey, Sammy. We’ve been captured by some dickwads.” 

“Reeeally?” Sam says, a little loopy. “Woooow.” 

“Let’s go,” Asshole One commands, and the Assholes all file out of the room. 

The door closes with a loud snick. 

“I can’ feeel muh f-ace,” Sam says, and his voice is sluggish. “Tongue feeels nummmb.” 

“I’m sure it does, bud. It’s probably whatever they used to knock us out. We’ll be fine,” Bucky says. He tries to wiggle his toes again, and only his big toe moves a smidge. “We gotta get it out of our system. Then we get out of here, okay?” 

“How lon’ ill at beee?”

“Not sure, Sammy. I’ll stall as long as I can, okay? I’m still feelin’ a little funny myself,” Bucky tells him. 

Sam’s legs flail against his restraints. “Ugh.” 

It seems Sam’s upper half is still waking up, and Bucky’s bottom half is still getting up to speed. 

Great. 

“Whoo are dey?” Sam mumbles. 

“I don’t know.” They’re not HYDRA because no one has rambled about some greater cause for humanity and shit. He hasn’t been monologued yet. They could be AIM if their drug cocktail is anything to base off of. Right now, Bucky figures, they’re an unaffiliated group, united in their Asshole-ness and their tendency to strike Bucky for just talking. “They’re Assholes.” 

“Okay,” Sam says, and he falls back asleep.

\----- 

The Asshole continue their futile mission. Bucky tries to save them the time and breath. An Asshole strikes him. Again.

“Ow.”

That one almost stung a little.

Asshole Two throws the papers at Asshole Four in a fit. “You try it!” 

Asshole Four tries it. 

Bucky yawns. “Still not gonna work.” 

Sam wakes up again. “Huh?” He lifts his head up a little easier this time. “We’re still here?” 

“Yep,” Bucky laments, and he gets punched in the shoulder this time. “Ow.” 

Bucky’s now able to wiggle all of his toes, but he’s not at total functionality. 

“I’ll give credit where it’s due, okay. You all whipped up a Grade A depressant. I haven’t been tranqed this hard in _ years._If you started making beers or something, I would invest so much fucking money towards it. My man and I’d be your number one customers. You’re all very smart, obviously. So, I think we all can see that this triggering isn’t going to happen. So how about we talk like rational adults, and we can get to the bottom of this. You wanted us for a reason, right?” 

Asshole Three beckons the other Assholes to huddle. Bucky can still hear them, in their hushed tones. 

“Should we just knock ‘em out and drop them off somewhere? This isn’t working, guys,” Asshole Four suggests. 

The other Assholes shoot that down. 

“No, we’re in too deep. We have to go all in. He’s heard our voices. If we let them go, they’ll somehow be able to find us. The Black Widow is hardcore and shit.” 

“Why don’t we just ask him to tell us the routing numbers for all those HYDRA accounts? I mean, that’s what we want, right?” 

“No, we’re not gonna beg him for anything. We still have the upper-hand,” Asshole Two insists. “The Falcon can barely lift up his head, and the Winter Soldier’s legs are still asleep.”

“No they’re not,” Asshole One scoffs. 

And Asshole One would be right. Bucky’s legs are registering enough feeling that Bucky’s not too worried. But he doesn’t want these Assholes to know that just yet. He needs to give Sam more time. 

“Lemme see,” Asshole Three says, and he marches up to Bucky and delivers a few very hard kicks at Bucky’s shin.

Bucky’s had a lot of practice hiding pain, and this is no exception. He just blinks at them. 

“See, they’re still numb,” Asshole Three says, all cocksure. “We just need to come up with a new plan.” 

“What are these fuckfaces moanin’ bout?” Sam slurs. 

Asshole Three strikes him in the face. Some blood trickles down Sam’s nose. 

Bucky strains against his bindings. He still can’t make any progress. “Hey! Hey! Don’t!” Bucky insists. “If you’re gonna hit someone, hit me.” 

He gets promptly smacked in the face. 

“Well, they’re grumpy,” Sam points out. 

“Yeah, pal. They are,” Bucky agrees. 

The Assholes storm out of the room. 

“Hang in there, okay?” Bucky says. 

Sam turns to look at him, his eyes more focused. “You look like shit.” 

“I’m sure I do.” Bucky flexes his hand. “I’m still gonna have to stall, okay? Just hang in there, alright?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam says, lolling his head back to stare at the ceiling. “How long was I out?” 

“Not sure. I don’t know how long I was out. I was awake probably half an hour before you.” 

“Oh.” Sam rolls his neck back down, resting his chin in the nest of his collarbone. 

“Yeah.”

\---- 

The Assholes end up marching back in an hour later with some more printed out instructions.

Sam’s visibly better but still in no shape to fight. Bucky’s as functional as he’ll ever be, he supposes. He’s hungry. He misses Steve. His cheek is pulsing a little bit. He’s bored as fuck. As strong as he is, he’s still struggling with the restraints. He’s not going to strike until he’s sure he can finish all the Assholes off on his own so Sam won’t have to. 

They do the same song and dance for another ten minutes until Asshole Two finally loses his temper and shreds the instructions in a fit. “Fuck this! It’s obviously not going to work.” 

“Thank you!” Bucky exasperates. “Now, can we just try to talk. I don’t want to hurt any of you little shitstains.” He’s promptly struck again. “Ow.” 

Sam snickers. “Have they been tryin’ this whole time?” 

“Yeah,” Bucky laments. 

Sam laughs a little hoarsely. “That’s dumb.” 

Asshole One smacks Sam across the face. 

“Hey! What did I say! If you gotta--” 

Asshole Two kicks Bucky’s shin. “You are not in charge! You are at my mercy!” 

"Yeah, yeah," Bucky deadpans. "Okay. Whatever you say." He sighs again, bored.

“Hey, psst, you," Sam whispers to Asshole One. "Come here. I’ll tell you what ya’ll are doing wrong.” The asshole leans down, and Sam spews out a glob of blood right into Asshole One’s mask. 

“Nice aim,” Bucky commends, and Asshole Three punches him in the gut. “You have good aim, too,” he says, unaffected. 

Asshole One is so taken aback that he wordlessly leaves the room after stuttering out a pitiful litany of curses. 

The others follow suit, perhaps, to save their comrade of the embarrassment of running off with his tail between the legs. 

Bucky watches the door snick shut, and he hears the levels of deadbolts locking into place, again. 

“Well then,” Sam sighs. “This is still sucking.” 

Bucky cracks a crick in his neck. “Nah. We’ll be fine.” He shrugs, lopsided. “We’ll be fine. We just need a little more time to stabilize.” 

“This sucks,” Sam reiterates. “What the fuck are they trying to do? What’s this for?”

“I couldn’t say. Wonder why they’re so adamant on using the code words. I know they’re after money. Why kidnap us, though? Are you secretly a billionaire?” Bucky asks, but not like he’s expecting an answer. “They’re not HYDRA. They’re not AIM. They’re nobodies. Four nobodies.” 

“Four nobodies that have us tied up in some goddamn dungeon,” Sam reminds. 

“Point taken.” 

“Do you think they can hear us?” Sam asks, looking straight at the camera pointing at them. The red dot means they’re being recorded (obviously), but they can’t tell if the camera picks up audio. 

Bucky shrugs indifferently. “If they can’t, they might be able to read our lips.” 

“We need a strategy, man,” Sam whispers. “How are we getting out of here?” 

“I’ll handle it,” Bucky says. “Just relax.” 

“How can I relax? We’re tied up in some--” 

“I mean, relax your body. Don’t tense up for too long. You’ll strain your muscles and exhaust yourself. Your body needs to heal, Sam.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.”

They sit in silence for a little bit, staring at their sides of the wall. 

“Why did they chain us up like this?” Sam ponders aloud. “I mean, really?” 

“My nose really itches.” 

“That’s your concern?” 

“It’s annoying.” 

“I’m sure it is.” 

The deadbolts detach, and the doors squeak open. 

They’ve abandoned the papers, and instead, Asshole Two is packing some new heat: a gun and a phone. 

Asshole Two presents said phone. “Call Captain America.” 

“I am Captain America,” Sam says. 

“The other one,” Asshole Two clarifies. 

“That’s technically me,” Bucky provides. “I’m the back-up when he’s busy.” 

Asshole Three socks him in the jaw. Asshole Three must have decided his blows weren’t hard enough because he’s now wearing a brass knuckle ring, and Bucky’s face is not a fan. 

“Steve Rogers. Contact him.” 

Bucky’s reeling back from the hit, and then for a moment he mentally -- because he can’t physically-- twiddles his thumbs. Sam’s glaring at him, waiting. 

“Oh,” Bucky says after a beat. He turns to Sam. “Do you not know his number?” 

Sam gives a sheepish shrug. “He changed his number too many times, and I had him as a contact anyway. Why would I memorize it? Do you not know his number?” 

“Of course I know his number!” 

“Then why did you ask me--” 

Bucky gets socked in the jaw again. 

“What the fuck was that for?” he whines, lolling his head back upright. 

“For wasting my time. Contact Rogers immediately.” 

Bucky’d like to point out that it’s _ his _ time that’s been wasted, but he’s too exasperated to argue. 

“What time is it?” Bucky asks instead. “If it’s past his bedtime, he might not answer the phone.” 

“Dude, c’mon,” Sam gripes. 

“It’s only five o’clock--” Asshole One answers, but Asshole Four ribs him in the side and pushes a finger against his mouth’s mask. 

“Call him!” Asshole Three repeats, and Asshole Two nudges his gun towards Bucky’s ribs. 

Honestly, Bucky doesn’t want to call Steve. Not because, of course, he doesn’t want to hear Steve’s voice. He just doesn’t want to worry him. Steve tends to go at things with a very I'm-giving- 100%-of-everything kind of attitude, and that includes worrying and overreacting. To be fair, Bucky would probably lose his collective shit if Steve called him in a similar circumstance. But that’s not the case here. Steve doesn’t need to worry. Bucky has this under control. He’ll figure it out. 

There’s no need to drag Steve into this. Steve would love to be dragged into this, sure. But Bucky wants to handle it. He wants Steve to stay at home, safe and sound, probably starting to prepare dinner. 

“No.” 

“Call him!” 

“But why would I call him, I mean he’ll track us down. Why would you want to do that?” 

“What the fuck, man?!?” Sam squawks. “If my hands weren’t tied--” 

“God, okay! Fine! Fine I’ll call him but--” 

“No buts! Call him now!” Asshole Four reiterates, poking the gun in more roughly. 

“How can I? My hand is tied up!” Bucky exasperates. 

The Assholes look at each other. “Oh.” 

“Yeah, ‘oh,’” Bucky mocks. “Hey Siri?” 

The phone dings. 

Bucky recites the number, and Asshole Three puts it on speaker. 

“You are all dumbasses,” Bucky tells them, and Sam curses him out again. 

“Do you want to get us killed?” Sam seethes. 

“Silence!” Asshole Two demands as the ringing continues. 

“Rogers,” comes from the other side. 

“Hey honey,” Bucky says naturally. He hopes if he keeps a cool composure that Steve won’t panic. “Guess who.” 

Asshole Three socks him in the jaw. 

Asshole One speaks into the phone, “We have The Falcon and the Winter Soldier in our captivity, Captain Rogers. You will listen to our demands, or we will kill them both. We want six million in cash. You have until midnight, or they die.” 

The other side of the phone is silent. Asshole Three taps his foot. 

“Well, damn,” Steve says in his deadpan, shit-eating kind of way. He thinks Bucky’s pulling his leg. “I’m just about ready to put the steaks on the grill.” 

Bucky laments audibly. “I’m sorry, hon.” Asshole Three kicks his shin. Bucky doesn’t even blink. Instead he tells Sam, “He’s gotten really good at dry-rubbing, pal, you wouldn’t believe it.” 

“Captain Rogers,” Asshole One repeats, “We have The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. We want six million in cash--”

“Wait? Hold on. Buck? Is this a prank?” Steve asks, and Bucky can picture the squiggle of confusion between his eyebrows. The dawning realization creeping up his face. “Sam?” 

“Nah, man this is real,” Sam says. 

Asshole Two clears his throat. “Captain Rogers, I will execute these two if you do not--” 

Bucky sneezes. Asshole Three jumps back, startled by Bucky’s thunderous achoo. 

“Really?” Sam asks him. 

“I told you my nose was itching.” 

“Bucky? Are you tied up?” Steve says. “Oh god, honey, can you tell me where you--” 

Asshole Two continues. “You are going to meet us at the coordinates I’m about to send you--”

“You might as well send him an invitation, pal!” Bucky laughs. Asshole Three punches him square in the nose. It audibly breaks. 

“Honey?” Steve says cautiously, and the worry in his voice is loud and clear. He can hear a jingle of keys; he must be racing to the car. “Buck? Where are you. I’m gonna--” 

That sobers Bucky up pretty quick. 

Fuck it. Bucky gonna have to strike, now. 

“No! No. Steve. Just listen--” 

“Buck, can you tell me where--” 

“Silence! I will execute--” 

“Everyone shut up!” Bucky barks. The Assholes and Steve zip it. “Steve. Baby. Do you trust me?” 

“Yeah, Buck, I--” 

Bucky says. “I got this. Hang up. Right Now. See you soon.” 

“Do not hang up!” Asshole Four demands, but Steve already did. 

Asshole Three fumes, and he strikes Bucky again and again.

“Hey, that’s enough!” Sam pleads. “He’s just--” 

Then, the next part happens without having to think too much about it. Like running on auto-pilot. Natural as breathing. 

Bucky snaps the chains, and then he destroys the reinforced chair he’d been tied to before Asshole Two can even click off his safety. No need to worry though, because Bucky’s already grabbed the gun and pistol-whipped Asshole Two into a pathetic heap. 

Next, he shoots Asshole One and Three neatly in their kneecaps; and he lassos the chain around his wrist around Asshole Four’s neck, and he pulls it tight until Asshole Four’s as purple as Bucky figures his nose must be. 

The Assholes are either a pitiful writhing mess on the ground or out colder than Sam was an hour ago. 

He could have been faster-- if his fucking arm was working and his head wasn’t pounding and his body was operating at one hundred percent-- but he still gets the job done. 

“What the fuck?” Sam demands, gaping at him all breathless. “You could have done that this whole time?” 

Bucky sighs all exasperated. “Yeah, man obviously,” he says sarcastically, panting a little. “Decided to keep it going because I was having fun. We were spending quality time together.” He lags a little in his step. “I love getting hit in the face for the crime of speaking.” 

“Okay, okay, uncle,” Sam concedes. 

“Maybe my kink is getting rough-handled by douchebags.” 

“I hate you,” Sam tells him. “Please untie me.”

\---- 

Bucky uses the Asshole’s phone number to call Natasha. “Darling, I’ve got you a gift. Four gifts, actually,” he tells her. “I’m sending you my coordinates now. I don’t know where they’ve put our stuff, so I’m using the operative’s phone. Oh, and send some medics, too.”

Sam’s still a little woozy. “I need an aspirin.” 

“Yeah, buddy I’m sure you do,” Bucky agrees. 

“I also want whatever steak you were talking about earlier,” Sam says. "I'm so fucking hungry, man." 

“I can arrange that,” and he redials Steve’s number. 

The service in this dungeon/cell/possibly-repurposed-BDSM-chamber has remarkable service. 

Steve picks up before the second ring.

“Now you listen to me, if you touch a _hair _ on either one of their h--!” Steve warns, barking in his most threatening tone of voice. Bucky secretly finds it hot, but this isn’t the time. 

“Steve. It’s me. You headin’ to the store, sweetheart?” Bucky drawls, trying to act nonchalant. Sam rolls his eyes.

“Oh! Honey! You okay, Buck?” Steve says, and he switches to a calming and nervous stammer, the worry thick. He’s speaking in a rapid fire, hands-shaking kind of way that he reserves only for Worrying-About-Bucky. “What happened? Why did you want me to hang up? I mean, I trust you, baby of course I do, but it sounded like they were hurti--” 

“Hey, hey. Easy, pal. Breathe. I’ll be fine. Natasha’s on her way.” The bustling noise in the background means Steve’s driving. “So, no need to come drive here and get us. Go to the grocer’s instead and get another rib-eye. Sam’s gonna join us for dinner, okay? And, uh, get me a pack of frozen peas while you’re at it, and a six pack of whatever IPA Sam won’t stop harassing us to try. Be back before the game starts, just like I promised,” and then he puts the receiver really close to his mouth to whisper, “And later, you can take care of me as much as you want, honey.” 

Whatever nagging or harrowing monologue Steve had been preparing is swallowed down. “Okay. Okay. Alright. I’ll go do that. I love you, Buck.” 

“I want my mommy,” Asshole Three blubbers against the floor. 

“I love you, too.”

\---- 

It turns out that the Assholes’ set up shop in New York.

Natasha, Maria Hill, and some other agents and medics arrive at the scene promptly. 

She whistles when she sees Bucky’s face. “Nice shiner. Well, your whole face is a shiner, really.” 

“Thanks.” He presents the pathetic group of Assholes on the floor. “Here’s your present.” 

“And what a nice present this is,” Natasha comments, looking down at the Assholes. She bends down, and then pats Asshole One all over. She slips out Sam and Bucky’s Mission Phones from a pocket, and she gives him an unimpressed look. “You said you couldn’t find your stuff?” 

“I only have my one hand. I’m injured.” Bucky supplies. “I didn’t want to disrupt the evidence.” 

“I’m still high,” Sam insists. “I didn’t even know our stuff was missing. I was just doped out of my mind.” 

“Uh huh.” She clicks her tongue. “Yeah.” She hands them back their phones. Then, she plucks the masks off the Assholes and tuts at them each, like a disappointed mother. 

Maria Hill quickly has Bucky and Sam debrief. She types effortlessly their responses into her notes section of the phone without looking down once. She mhms and uh-huhs then tucks her phone into her pocket once they finish. 

A medic assists Bucky in removing the remnants of his damaged arm while another wraps up his exposed shoulder. “You should see the other guys,” he jokes, nudging his head in the direction of the Assholes. 

Natasha rolls her eyes. 

“Well, in addition to kidnapping, conspiracy, hacking, assault, attempted extortion, unlawful manufacturing of drugs, and destruction of a priceless Vibranium arm, these guys are looking much worse than you,” Maria deadpans. Bucky appreciates her dry humor. “At least they can go to prison bragging about being beat up by the Winter Soldier. That’ll make them feel better.”

\--- 

The agents and medics haul the Assholes off to booking.

The Assholes utilized an abandoned warehouse for their evil lair, and outside, agents scour around the premises. 

“Well, what do we do from here?” Sam asks, eyes scanning the gravel parking lot. 

“We’ve got another car here for you. Very competent and vetted driver, so you can go straight home,” Maria explains, pointing in the direction of a black SUV. 

“What happened to the car we were issued?” Sam asks. “If those dinguses totaled it, it better not be coming out of my --” 

“The operatives highjacked the issued car and hacked into the car’s AI. We have to run a diagnostic to make sure the software wasn’t compromised, and we’ll also need it for evidence should any of these assailants gamble with going to trial.” She gives them both a look over, again. “Oh, and we have to assume that whatever drug these assailants used to incapacitate you two continues to linger in your bodies, so in short, neither of you are fit to operate a vehicle. Legally I can’t allow it.” 

Sam and Bucky don’t argue with that. 

“Well, about that drug cocktail they made for us,” Bucky starts, following a step behind as Natasha heads to her sportscar and Maria to her SUV. “You shouldn’t forget to ask them to describe it in thorough detail. For science.” 

Natasha rolls her eyes as she climbs into the driver’s seat. “You’re never gonna give up looking for some type of alcohol that gets you drunk, huh?” She straps in, and she gives him an unimpressed frown. “You’re relentless.” 

“Steve’s a pretty blusher when he drinks,” he explains. “And apparently, I get very ho--” 

“La la la, can’t hear you!” Natasha rolls up the window. 

“What about you, Hill? Will you make a note to--” 

Maria closes the door to her own car, and she revs up the engine. “Sorry, I can’t hear you!” she says with a hapless shrug, and she drives off. 

A car behind him honks. 

“Get in before we leave you!” Sam yells from the passenger seat of the car. He hooks a thumb at the driver. “This man right here is very busy, so…” 

Bucky rolls his eyes, and he hops into the car. “Alright,” he says, strapping in before he instructs the driver to take them to his home.

\---- 

“See,” Bucky says, mouth obnoxiously full. “He seasons it just perfectly.”

Sam swallows down another bite -- a tender but smoky chunk-- and he nods to Steve. “You grill a mean steak, my friend.” 

Steve beams, all sheepishly and sweet. He knocks his knee against Bucky’s and knocks back another swig of beer from the bottle.

“Cut me another piece, baby?” Bucky asks, and Steve obliges. Sam makes a fake gagging sound _again_ as though Steve hasn’t been cutting up Bucky’s steak for him the whole night. 

“What, do you wanna cut my steak instead, Sammy?” Bucky teases. 

Sam finishes his beer with a crisp, “Nope.” He spills a little onto his shirt. Well, Bucky’s shirt. Sam and Bucky both beelined to the showers once they arrived at the Barnes-Rogers household, but mid-shower, Sam realized he shouldn’t change back into the uniform. He tried to get Steve to sneakily smuggle some of Bucky’s clean sweats to the bathroom, but Bucky overheard and took it upon himself to personally hand him: a “From Russia With Love” t-shirt that Natasha gifted him as a joke, some boxers with little red stars all over them, and to rub it in even more, sweatpants with “JUNK IN THE TRUNK” printed over the rear. “No, I do not.” 

Bucky lathers some more butter onto his cob. The team Steve’s been rooting for scores a touch-down. Sam tears off another piece of steak. The season’s few remaining fireflies glitter. There’s a soft breeze. 

It’s a good night.

\---- 

Sam calls an Uber home, and Steve and Bucky clean up.

Steve is very pleased and smug that his team won, and he’s very touchy in the way he gets after Bucky comes back from a mission roughed up. 

He ends up carrying Bucky up to bed as though Bucky’s legs are still out of order. 

“Honey,” he sighs, as Steve gently drops him down on his feet. He knows he flirted and teased Steve this morning and promised to let Steve take care of him, but he’s too exhausted to entertain the thought of sex. “I’m tired. I’m gonna get ready for bed then pass out.” 

Steve doesn’t seem to mind. He folds a fresh set of pajamas for him on his side of the bed. He hovers while Bucky brushes his teeth, washes his face, and pulls back his hair into a little ponytail incase Bucky suddenly requires assistance. 

He insists Steve carry him to the bed because he can tell Steve’s itching to help, to do something, to be sweet on him. Steve even tucks him in, fluffs up his pillow, and leaves a tall glass of water on his side table. 

Steve curls in close to him, inhaling deep, nuzzling his cheek against Bucky’s chest. “I got scared there for a second, Buck,” Steve whispers. 

“I know. I’m sorry.” Steve grapples for his hand, and he squeezes it. “I didn’t want you to freak out. I wouldn’t have let anything happen to us. I’ll always come home to you.” 

Steve sighs. “I know.” His thumb circles around Bucky’s hip. “I love you, honey. So much.”

“I know you do.” Bucky rubs his thumb over Steve’s knuckles. “I love you, too.” 

Steve wiggles in closer, and his foot tangles by Bucky’s. “Good night, hon.” 

“Good night, baby.”

\--- 

“Uh huh?” he murmurs into his memory foam. He’s gladly awake now. The red blinking numbers on the sturdy alarm clock indicate it’s almost eight in the morning.

Bucky’s body’s decided it’s rested enough, and Bucky agrees. The pressure poking at the small of Bucky’s back tells him Steve’s on board, too. 

Steve kisses his neck. “Mhm.” 

“Yeah?” he croaks, and he rolls onto his back. “Wanna take care of me, honey?” 

Steve does. He reaches over to turn on the side lamp. “Yeah. Want you stay comfy and let me do all the work. Know you had a long, rough time yesterday..” 

“That’s so sweet of you. Want me to be a pillow princess?” he demands, teasing. “Huh?” 

Steve pleads the fifth, and he settles in Bucky’s lap. “I want you to relax, honey.” 

“You wanna take care of me real good?” 

Steve nods, blushing. “I always do.” 

Bucky purses his lips, and Steve leans down to kiss him. “Then go on. Go on and take care of me.” 

Steve takes care of him. 

He takes care of him really good. 

“Oh honey,” Bucky sighs, toes curling. “That’s real nice. Real nice, honey.” 

Steve fucks himself, up and down, real hard but so satisfying. “Buck.” His nails bite into the V of Bucky’s hips. “Oh, baby.” 

The mattress squeaks under them. 

“I know.” He unbuttons Steve’s flannel just enough to slip his hand in to grope Steve’s breast. “Uh huh. That’s it. Fuck down on me. Gimme it. Love me.” 

Steve keeps swiveling his hips. “Mmm.” 

Bucky moves his hand to rest of Steve’s hip, helping him to move nice and easy. “Mhm.”

\--- 

Steve carries them over to the shower after the third round, and they rinse off quickly after disposing the collateral-damaged pajamas. They change into running outfits, and Steve helps tie Bucky’s shoes for him the same way he’d laced Bucky’s boots the morning before.

Most of the bruising around his face has subsided. Before dinner, Steve had to re-break his nose to set it, and the purple-black halo of a bruise has paled into a softer green. 

“You look real handsome,” Steve tells him, hoisting him up from the bed. 

Bucky mhms at that, and he heads down the stairs. 

“Wanna do five laps then get some breakfast?” Steve asks, plugging his headphones into his phone. 

“Sure,” Bucky says, but instead of starting to jog as a warm-up he takes Steve’s hand. “Let’s walk a bit, first. It’s a beautiful day.” 

Steve squeezes his hand. “Yeah,” he says, looking right at Bucky. “It sure is.”

**Author's Note:**

> I know I've been on hiatus with my other works lately. This has been something I've been working on sporadically that I finished up. It isn't complete. 
> 
> I'm still in a rut after EG. I'm still really upset about it. It's been causing me to have some roadbumps. The rage is more muted, but I feel so emotionless and cold instead of impassioned. 
> 
> I won't give up on them, just yet. 
> 
> I have mentioned in some comments that I've also started working full-time so I write on the weekends mostly. Writing can be really tolling and emotionally exhausting. Investing a piece of your soul to these characters hurts when you are hurt by what has been done to them. 
> 
> I'm coming back soon. I just need more time. 
> 
> Hope you like this chapter, I intend to post two more missions.


End file.
